Safety Valve
by CrlkSeasons
Summary: Set at the beginning of the episode, Tsunkatse, the crew is still feeling the effects of their encounter with the monument to the massacre of the colonists on Tarakis.


For the VAMB Secret Santa Challenge, I offered to write a 'no romance story' with several pairings to choose from.

JoAyryn requested 'an episode addition to Tsunkatse, either a missing scene or a post script. Can be J/C, or just include J/C as a subtext. No major character deaths (except TV canon), no water sports, no gratuitous violence, any rating.

This story is the result of the merging of those two sets of criteria. In some ways, it is a sequel to an unfinished Paris/Torres story that is still sitting in my computer. Thank you, JoAyryn, your request might get me moving again.

Please note (as I did inform the moderators) that none of the violence is gratuitous and as long as coffee drinking does not qualify as a water sport, I'm okay on that point too.

**Safety Valve**

A hanging bulb swung lazily back and forth, raking fingers of dim light through the shadows. There was nothing glamorous about the fight in progress in the poorly lit ring below. Sweat was sweat. Blood was blood.

The combatants were evenly matched. Yet, one boxer had an advantage. He forced his opponent back into the ropes. If not more skilled, he was clearly more determined than the other. Dull thuds and pained grunts broke the silence as he landed body blow after body blow.

Fatigue began to set in. Chakotay's breathing became heavier. His aim faltered. His once easy rhythm sank into a ragged dance of missed steps. Still he pushed on, giving no quarter, showing no mercy.

* * *

"Enter!"

Kathryn Janeway's invitation held more challenge than welcome.

Chakotay ignored the testiness in the Captain's voice and handed her one of the two mugs that he carried with him into the ready room. "I thought you could use a break."

"How did you guess?" Kathryn asked ruefully.

"I think the sparks coming under your door were a dead give-away."

"It was that bad?"

"It was either that or a malfunctioning door. B'Elanna has knocked enough heads together these past weeks to get ahead on repairs. So, I was pretty sure it wasn't the door."

Kathryn laughed. "It's the damn replicator getting on my nerves," she explained. "The Doctor insisted on reprogramming it to deliver a caffeine warning after my third coffee of the day. I know he's been especially concerned about the crew's health during their recovery from the experience with implanted memories. But his canned coffee lecture is driving me crazy."

"Why don't you override the program?"

"I tried that. The next time I ordered coffee, I got a glass of warm milk!"

Chakotay chuckled sympathetically. "Well, this cup of coffee comes lecture-free, except for the First Officer's standard advice to the Captain to take better care of herself."

"Noted." Kathryn smiled and gestured for Chakotay to join her over in the seating area by the window. "How is the shore leave schedule working out?"

"Good, so far. I was able to match almost all of the crew with their first choice for shore leave. Most of them have responded well to the debriefing sessions. Not everyone, though. The change of scene could be just what they need to help them move on."

Chakotay stopped to examine a nonexistent pattern on the surface of his tea.

Kathryn waited patiently for him to continue. She knew that the monument's invasive message had hit Chakotay and his away team the hardest. Chakotay insisted that he was coping with the trauma with his usual techniques. Since his spirit guide was the nearest thing to a counselor that anyone had on the ship, Kathryn couldn't argue with him.

Chakotay looked up from studying his tea and grinned unexpectedly. "I even got B'Elanna to agree to come with me to the Tsunkatse matches today," he told her with smug satisfaction.

"You're tearing B'Elanna away from her engines? I'm impressed!"

Chakotay nodded. "The matches should be fun. Now all I have to do in order to finish the job is to convince the Captain to take shore leave. You know how stubborn _she_ can be."

Kathryn laughed and surrendered. "All right! Schedule me for shore leave after you're back on board. It will give me a chance to observe the crew and get a better idea of how well they're doing."

Chakotay frowned. "That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"What do you mean?"

"You need a _real_ holiday, Kathryn. It's high time you took one."

"I'm fine, Chakotay," she insisted.

"You're _not_ fine. You can't go on indefinitely being captain twenty-four hours a day, and you can't shake off the implanted memories of the massacre on Tarakis just by willing it."

Kathryn sat back, quiet for a moment, not ready to acknowledge that he was right, not able to deny it.

"I know," she finally admitted. "There are nights when I still see the images of the dead colonists in my dreams. I hear myself argue against vaporizing the bodies. I see myself standing there, letting Saavdra do it."

She took a sip of her coffee. The familiar surroundings of her ready room grounded her. She reached back beyond the details of this room, with its plants and mementoes from home, to a different ready room.

Captain Paris could make a piece of standard Starfleet issue furniture stand at attention just by looking at it. His ready room on the Al-Batani was rigidly formal, almost austere. Only a simple, framed family photo adorned his desk. It faced inward. It was a private thing, not on display to be shared with visitors.

"Owen Paris used to prepare regular lectures for his officers," Kathryn confided to Chakotay. "He once told us that a good captain trusts his officers, but it's the captain's responsibility to ensure results."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "I am Voyager's Captain. It's my responsibility to make sure that nothing like Tarakis ever happens on Voyager. You can't tell me that it's not."

There was no way that Chakotay could win an argument, trying to convince Kathryn to go easy on herself. He had a different tactic in mind.

"You may be fine with the idea of working while you're supposed to be on shore leave. But it's not good for the crew to have you hanging around like that, spying on them."

Kathryn was offended. "I wasn't going to 'spy' on them."

"That may not be what you call it. But, face it, Kathryn. A crew can't relax with their commanding officer always there, looking over their shoulder. You have to remember how hard it was for _you_ to let loose and have a good bitching session over a pint or two of beer, if your commanding officer was at the same bar sitting at the next table."

Kathryn relented a little. "So, I won't go to a bar."

"Or over a coffee at the local coffee house. You can't tell me that you won't visit any of those."

Kathryn smiled reluctantly at that. "All right. You win."

Chakotay smiled back. "I understand that the Pendari system has a lot to offer its visitors and it's not that far from here. There are many beautiful gardens, a famous Math institute, some great cafes. I'm told their local version of coffee is an excellent blend. Added to that, it all comes lecture-free, with no chance of bumping into a Voyager crewman if you happen to spill coffee on your lap."

"I never spill coffee on my lap." Kathryn protested.

In the face of his amused skepticism, she amended her story. "Well, only that once." She glared at him with mock sternness. "My First Officer was the only witness and _he_ promised never to tell anyone."

"Did I say you'd ever spilt coffee on your lap?" he asked. "I only said 'if' you happened to spill it." He grinned, then sobered again. "Kathryn, this vacation will be good for you and it will be good for the crew. I've already instructed Tom to have the Delta Flyer prepared for your use. Trust your First Officer to look after the crew while you're away."

"I _do_ trust you, Chakotay," she told him earnestly. "I don't know what I would have done all these years without you." She chose her next words carefully. "Commander Cavit was a competent officer. His reputation for organization was well earned. I'm sorry he didn't make it. But Voyager could never have fared as well as it has with anyone but you as First Officer."

Kathryn tilted her head, apparently giving thought to some weighty matter. "I'll make you a deal," she offered. "You can tell Tom that I promise not to scratch the paint on the Flyer if _you_ promise not to dirty my carpet when you set up house in my ready room."

Chakotay nodded and laughed with her. "I can live with that."

"I am _very_ glad that you're going to have some fun on shore leave too. Tell me about these Tsunkatse matches of yours." She resettled herself for a comfortable chat.

"They're very popular in this sector," he explained. "The fights pit opponents against each other in contests of skill and technique."

"And B'Elanna is joining you?"

"We wanted to spend time doing something besides discussing engine repairs, or Seven's latest demands on the ship's energy reserves."

It was Kathryn's turn to chuckle sympathetically.

"It's also part of a plan that I have. When B'Elanna gets back, she'll tell Tom all about the matches. That should pique his interest and I should be able to talk him into coming to the matches with me tomorrow. If Tom goes, Harry will go … maybe Neelix too. I think I can get them to open up some more once we're all away from the ship,

Chakotay, Tom, Harry and Neelix had received the transmissions of the massacre without the buffer of knowing that they were reliving someone else's memories. Their recovery had not been easy. It still wasn't easy.

Kathryn reached out to take Chakotay's hand in hers. "Now who's mixing duty with shore leave?" she asked softly. "I thought you were going to give yourself a _real_ break."

He covered her hand with his own. His eyes held nothing of the fury of the ring. There was only warmth and understanding in the gentle quirk of his smile. "We _are_ a pair aren't we?" he asked. He didn't really need an answer.

* * *

That afternoon, the ship's corridors were filled with the cheerful jangle of a crew heading off for shore leave. Chakotay acknowledged one chattering group after another. He waited for them all to pass by before opening the holodeck doors.

Inside, his world narrowed to a sparsely furnished dressing room. Chakotay shrugged off his uniform and hung the grey and red straitjacket on a bare, metal hook. Outside, the crew needed their First Officer. He had no place here.

Chakotay pulled on a pair of boxing shorts, grabbed his gloves and sat down on the only bench to wait.

Chakotay's boxing opponents had worn many faces over the years. He'd fought everyone from a stiff-necked Vulcan to an arrogant Devore inspector. They tapped into his anger. They released his rage and restored his equilibrium. Fear was harder to defeat than anger. Chakotay was up against fear in the ring today.

Boothby appeared from out of the darkness. His grey hair and lined face were the same as ever. The knees of his overalls were smudged with dirt, as if he had come straight from tending one of his flowerbeds. Boothby always came when Chakotay needed him.

Chakotay first met Boothby back at the academy. Boothby showed up at one of Chakotay's boxing matches and stayed to help him train. Everyone on campus knew Boothby and Boothby knew the needs of every cadet there. Chakotay could count on Boothby to listen, to hear him through when he struggled with a difficult decision.

On Voyager, Chakotay kept his uncertainties to himself. The fact that he talked to a holographic Boothby in his boxing program was a private matter. Chakotay held onto his privacy and pretended not to recognize the Boothby who showed up in species 8472's simulation. Kathryn respected his privacy and pretended not to notice this curious lack of recognition.

Boothby knelt beside the bench to wrap Chakotay's hands. "Now, son," he lectured in his raspy voice. "You watch out for this one. He's got staying power. He can fool you. Just when you think you've got him beat, he'll come back at you."

"I know," Chakotay answered shortly.

"You've lost some of your endurance," Boothby admonished him. "That last time you faded at the end. You need to practice more."

"I will," Chakotay promised.

"Fine, fine." Boothby's tone switched to encouragement. He gave his work one final check.

Over by the ring, Boothby helped Chakotay pull on his gloves, Chakotay climbed into the ring and leaned back against the ropes. Boothby manned his corner down on the floor. For now, Chakotay was alone in the ring.

Today, Chakotay pitted himself against his 'alter ego' from Tarakis. That tired and overworked section leader had let himself be overruled by a unit commander who pushed his team past their limit, with disastrous results.

The section leader's memories forced their way into Chakotay's consciousness and disturbed his peace. The soldier's memories mingled with his own. He whispered to Chakotay of failure in his sleep.

Chakotay refused to let these implanted fears become his own. He brought the soldier to the ring instead. The bouts with him took a toll on Chakotay. But with each fight, Chakotay left more of Tarakis on the mat. Each time he defeated his opponent, Chakotay won back more of what the crew needed him to be, more of what Kathryn needed him to be.

Chakotay felt the bottom ropes move. On the other side of the ring a soldier in battle fatigues squeezed them apart and climbed through.

Chakotay's muscles clenched and unclenched. He tested his gloves, bounced lightly on his feet and stepped up to engage the stranger with his face. Chakotay shut out everything but the world of the ring. His eyes grew cold, his face hard, fierce. Nothing remained of the Starfleet officer, no sign of the noble warrior either. Only the Tattooed Terror was left to answer the bell.

Round One!

Unobserved in a darkened corner, Kathryn Janeway stood alone, and watched.


End file.
